


Same Size

by QueryingQuill



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Hiccup's a beanpole, Modern AU, astrid's frustrated, trope twist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 22:11:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13533573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueryingQuill/pseuds/QueryingQuill
Summary: Astrid can't find her sweatshirt anywhere. Maybe her boyfriend knows something about it...





	Same Size

“Hey, Hic?”

Astrid peaked her head around the hallway corner, eyes still intently trained on the whirlwind state of her bedroom. Shirts draped haphazardly across her desk chair, a colourful lumpy jumble; jeans scattered what little carpet was left available, patch-working the floor; socks spilled out of her half closed dresser drawer like a cotton waterfall. The rare winter sun streamed in through the blinds covering the frosty window–cold, but nonetheless brilliant–adding warmth to the rapidly freezing dormitory. The horizontal shadows streaked across her comforter, casting hilariously sad prison bars across the old, scraggly teddybear that had somehow survived the tornado of destruction propped up against her pillow.

“Yeah,” he called back, voice far away and hidden behind the daunting mountain of exams he still had to climb.

No doubt Hiccup had his face pressed in a text book, hair smashed up into a porcupine silhouette. The roped braids at the base of his neck probably had been there since last Thursday; he’d be an academically frazzled mess.

“You seen my sweatshirt?” she hollered back, toying with the end of her braid.

“Which one?”

“The grey cross country one? With the orange stripe on the shoulder.”

Her only answer this time was a realising hum, muffled by the back of the couch.

She waited a moment, scanning the room one more time, just to be safe. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out where it’d went. She’d had it in her laundry bin last night, all folded and neatly stacked with her running shorts (she remembered because these days, she rarely had time to do laundry, let alone fold), but come to find that it had disappeared when she’d returned from class.

“Hic?”

No answer.

“Hiccup?”

Still nothing.

She started down the hall, towards the living room, padding across hardwood in stocking feet.

“Babe?”

Hiccup was slunk down on the couch, knees to his chest, pen between his teeth; three different highlighters stuck out from between his knuckles, like Wolverine had just fought a pastel rainbow. His legs were cocooned in flannel — apparently he’d neglected to change out of his pyjamas, because he wore sweatpants and–

“My sweatshirt!”

He snorted, spitting the pen onto a pillow and biting the cap off of the yellow highlighter.

“‘Ook ooo 'ong 'uff o o'ice,” he garbled.

Astrid stood baffled by the bookshelf. “I–I,” she stammered, “I really need that, the team dinner is in half and hour.”

Hiccup hummed again in response, still engrossed in “Design and Applications of Nanostructured Polymer Blends and Nanocomposite Systems.”

“Hiccup…”

He groaned and plunked the thick book down next to him, standing and fixing her with a slightly miffed glare.

“I was in the zone,” he grumbled, reaching for the hem —

But she darted forward and stopped him with a gentle touch to the wrist.

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He just looked so hilariously adorable in the hoodie — the sleeves bagged slightly at the biceps and hung loosely around his hips (places that fit her shaped upper-arms and more feminine figure rather snuggly). She bit her lip, trying to contain the explosion of giggles building up inside at the sight of Hiccup “barely-hitting-130-pounds-soaking-wet” Haddock wearing her sweatshirt perfectly. She loved it.

He squinted at her, watching as tomato-red creeped slowly into her cheeks.

“What?” he insisted, a note of suspension colouring his tone.

She couldn’t keep a snort in as she opened her lips to squeak, “Nothing.”

One moment of eye contact and Astrid cracked, doubling over in frame-shaking laughter.

“Oh, come on!” Hiccup whined, throwing his arms up in the air. “It’s not that funny!”

Astrid clutched at his forearm for support.

“No, Hic, it’s amazing!”

He rolled his eyes as she pulled him into a hug by his waist. He set his chin on top of her head, letting his arms dangle at his sides, trying (and failing) to maintain a determinedly sour attitude.

If it were anyone else mocking his stick-esque stature, perhaps he could have mustered some anger. But Astrid’s eyes alit with glittering glee, matching a resplendent smile stretching from ear to ear.

He gave in, nuzzling into the crook of her neck.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s so funny that I can fit into your clothes. We’re the same size — wow! So abnormal!”

She sobered for a second, gently chuckling. “I suppose I knew that we were — I mean, I’ve shopped for you before — but I’ve never…thought…” her laughs had crescendoed, and Hiccup backed away, hands on his hips.

“Oh, come on, it’s adorable,” she assured.

“You’re not boosting my confidence any.”

They crossed gazes. He exhaled, incredulous, before joining in with her mirth. Hiccup went to pull off the sweatshirt, but Astrid stopped him again.

“No, no, no,” she protested, if anything, hoping for him to keep the layer on long enough for her to snap a discrete picture. “Don’t bother. I’ve got others.”

“They’re not clean, though,” he reasoned, shaking off her hand.

“But you were in the zone! Far be it from me to disrupt your flow.”

Hiccup raised an eyebrow, and said flatly, “you are not taking a picture of me, get your hand out of your pocket.”

She choked on air, barely regaining composure before she collapsed once more.

He glowered. “You honestly need to laugh at every embarrassing thing I do?”

She reached up to sweep the fringe out of his eyes.

“Only because I find you unequivocally adorable.”

She pressed her lips to his cheek, quick and sweet, and his hands automatically found her hips.

“You should get going,” he said, making no move to release her. “You’ll be late.”

She hummed, rested her forehead on his, made no move to release him, either.

They stood there for many moments, trapped in each other’s eyes, before he pecked her nose, watching it scrunch playfully under the affection. Hiccup slipped from her hold, back towards the couch.

“You know, I tore apart my room looking for that thing,” she asked as she grabbed her keys off the coffee table.

He simpered. "Aww, are you pouting?”

She sized him up briefly. “It looks good on you, you should keep it.”

He stuck his tongue out at her as she passed.

“Have fun!” he called.

As the door swung shut, the last image she had of Hiccup was him, head thrown back, arm raised, lips pouted, striking a ridiculously exaggerated pose in her sweatshirt.


End file.
